Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

by Jonathan Moeller

Magic leaped from her staff, and the hydra’s final head burst into howling flames. The creature thrashed, trying to extinguish the fire, and Calem moved with smooth grace. The Sword of Air rose and then fell, and the burning head fell to the trampled, smoking ground. The hydra’s body thrashed, the tail whipping back and forth, the necks lashing at the ground like cut ropes caught in a gale.

  The creature went limp and collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from the charred end of its necks.

  Tamara let out a long breath, and then all the strength drained out of her. She fell to one knee with a groan, leaning hard on the staff of Amruthyr to keep from falling on her face.

  “Tamara!” Tamlin rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” said Tamara. She tried to catch her breath, and the dizziness started to ease. “I’m fine. I just…I just…that was more tiring than I thought.”

  “You used the magic of elemental fire,” said Calliande, hurrying closer. “You’ve never done that before.”

  “No,” said Tamara. “I don’t know how I did it. The hydra’s fire…I’ve had dreams about burning to death. And then I remembered. It wasn’t a dream, it actually happened. And then I understood the fire, and I knew how to call it…”

  She blinked a few times, lifted one hand, and concentrated.

  Elemental fire danced and flickered around her fingers, and then she dismissed the spell.

  “Not many Arcanius Knights have power and skill with more than one element,” said Tamlin. “Master Nicion does with all four. Lady Calliande does as well, but she’s the Keeper of Andomhaim.”

  “And we’ve seen you use three,” said Calliande. “Fire, earth, and air.”

  “Magatai wonders if we should call you Tamara Fire, Air, and Earthcaller,” said Magatai. “Though that seems somewhat cumbersome.”

  “It would be,” said Tamara. She took a deep breath and rose, and Tamlin caught her elbow. Another wave of dizziness went through Tamara, but she kept her feet. “I do not think we should linger here. The dead trolls and hydra might draw the notice of scavengers.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “Or other hydras. I would not want to fight another of those beasts.”

  “I have,” said Calem, gazing at the dead creature. “It was a formidable foe.”

  “You have, Sir Calem?” said Magatai. “You have visited the Serpent Marshes before?”

  “I have not,” said Calem. “But the Confessor’s gamemasters captured a hydra and used it as a war beast in the Ring of Blood. I was part of a team of seven gladiators that faced the creature. In the end, the hydra was slain, but I was the only survivor.” He shook his head, face distant. “It was a brutal fight.”

  Kalussa started to open her mouth, hesitated, and then looked away.

  “I heard that,” said Tamlin. “The dvargir gamemasters never captured another one because it killed too many gladiators.”

  “And likely it killed too many dvargir slavers during the capture,” said Ridmark. “Tamara’s right. We cannot linger here. Let’s see if we can reach the causeway before dark.”

  “Are you ready to travel?” said Tamlin.

  Tamara smiled at him. “If it keeps us from fighting another hydra, I’ll run all day and the rest of the night.”

  But she was troubled. When she had left Kalimnos with Tamlin and the others, she had possessed skill with earth magic. At Cathair Caedyn, her power with air magic had manifested and now fire magic. How many more secrets were locked inside her head? She knew that Rhodruthain had done this to her, had taken the woman she had been and split her into seven lives with the power of the Sword of Life, and of the seven shards, Tamara was the only one left.

  What kind of woman had she been to wield such power?

  More to the point, what kind of woman was she becoming?

  No. Tamara knew who she was. She was Tamara Earthcaller of Kalimnos, the adoptive daughter of Melex. She was Tamlin’s wife, even if she had only met him for the first time a few weeks ago. One of her other selves had known him and loved him, and now those memories had passed to Tamara.

  And more to the point, she was a woman who needed to get away from those dead trolls before the scavengers came to feast.

  “I’m ready,” said Tamara.

  “Then let’s move,” said Ridmark.

  Chapter 4: The Sword of Life

  As Ridmark hoped, they reached the causeway just before dark.

  They spent a hard afternoon slogging through the swamp, moving from island to island and wading through the stagnant waters when no clear path presented itself. Ridmark watched the water warily. He had seen how swiftly the swamp trolls had moved through the water, and he suspected they could breathe while submerged. They might prefer to drag their prey underwater and simply hold them until they drowned. For that matter, other predators might lurk in the swamps.

  But neither trolls nor any other creatures attacked them. Perhaps the death of the hydra had scared them off.

  As the sun slipped towards the western horizon and vanished beneath the moss-choked trees, the air cooled, but mist rose from the waters. Depending on the weather, these damnable fogs rose from the swamps shortly before every sunset. The first night in the swamps, the mist had been so thick that Ridmark could not see more than a dozen paces in any direction, and they had been forced to stop until dawn.

  Fortunately, the mist was not so heavy this time, and it instead it rippled along the ground in a pale haze, fingers of it crawling over the islands and across the water.

  And as twilight fell over the marshes, the causeway came into sight.

  “Dear God,” said Krastikon, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “That is more substantial than I expected.”

  Ridmark had seen a causeway like this before, years ago in the marshes near the town of Moraime in the Wilderland. It looked more like a levee than a causeway, a rounded, flat-topped wall of grassy earth rising out of the water. The causeway in the marshes of Moraime had been constructed with great labor, with hundreds of boulders piled and then covered with loose earth, the roots of the grass and the bushes holding the dirt together. The causeway had been built along similar principles. Its top was flat and at least fifteen yards wide. It would have been wide enough to accommodate a team of horses, had there been any horses in the land of Owyllain.

  “It is,” said Third. “I scouted several miles to the southeast, and the causeway continues in that direction. To judge from the tracks, I suspect it is the main route of travel from the city of Najaris to the pass through the Tower Mountains.”

  They waded through a stretch of brackish water and then clambered up the side of the causeway. Thick grasses covered the slopes, which made it easier to climb up. Ridmark and the others reached the top. The xiatami had laid a thick coating of gravel on the top, though grasses and even small bushes had forced their way through the broken stone here and there. The prints of many booted feet marked the ground, along with the tracks of scutian pack beasts and the marks of wagon wheels. This was a well-traveled road.

  Ridmark wondered who they might meet using it. Still, he was willing to accept the risk of encountering enemies if it spared them from the many dangers of slogging through the marsh. And it was possible they might recruit allies along the way. Ridmark suspected the swamp trolls were indiscriminate in their depredations.

  “I wonder how the xiatami built all this,” said Kalussa. “It must have been a mighty work.”

  “Slaves,” said Tamlin. He grimaced and shook his head. “Thousands and thousands of slaves. I fear we will walk upon the bones of slaves with every step. Najaris is filled with slaves, and the xiatami nobles and priests have great powers of mind magic to keep them quiescent.”

  Kalussa gave the ground an uneasy look. “Those poor men. God have mercy upon their souls.”

  “Cruelty or not,” said Krastikon, “it will be pleasant to have dry ground beneath us for once.” He took a step forward, and mud squished underneath his boot. “Mostly dry, anyway.”


  “Tamlin,” said Ridmark, considering the ground. “If the xiatami come across us, will they attack?”

  “Probably not,” said Tamlin. “The xiatami are…” He frowned. “It is hard to explain unless you’ve met them.”

  “Lassitude,” said Magatai.

  “Yes, exactly right,” said Tamlin. “Lassitude. That is a good way to describe them. They are dangerous and powerful but prefer to do nothing so long as that is the safest and most convenient option. So long as we do not attack them first, they will likely leave us in peace.”

  “Magatai has dealt with the xiatami many times,” said Magatai. “Tamlin Thunderbolt is correct. The snakemen are dangerous and treacherous, but reclusive. Put yourself in their power and you shall regret it, but they are not fools. We are obviously dangerous and carry weapons of great magic, and they will prefer to leave us alone.”

  “The xiatami will,” said Tamlin, “but the xiatami employ many mercenaries, and they are greedier than their masters. For that matter, dvargir slavers often travel to Najaris, and they might attack us.”

  “And we could encounter more swamp trolls and hydras first,” said Third.

  “Then we’ll make sure that we keep a good watch,” said Ridmark. He looked around and pointed. “Let’s camp over there. We’ll have a good view of the marshes to the north and south, and we’ll be able to see anyone coming along the causeway long before they draw close.”

  “Anyone traveling across the causeway will see us a long way off as well,” said Third.

  Ridmark shrugged. “I don’t see a way around that.”

  “Nor do I,” said Third.

  They set up camp at the spot Ridmark had indicated. The others sat down with a sigh. Calliande busied herself by casting spells of elemental water, conjuring ice the others melted into their canteens. Magatai tended to Northwind, cleaning away the swamp muck that had accumulated on the claws of the struthian’s feet.

  “I think we had best keep two people on watch all night,” said Third. “We are exposed here, and this would be a bad spot for a battle.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark.

  ###

  Calliande took another drink of water and considered the others.

  Magatai and Krastikon were arguing good-naturedly about the best way to fight the swamp trolls again, should the creatures return for a second battle. Kalussa and Calem were resolutely ignoring each other. Ridmark and Third had volunteered to take the first watch, and they gazed into the swamp, watching for any foes. At least it would be nearly impossible for anyone to approach them unseen along the causeway itself.

  Tamara sat next to Tamlin, resting her forehead against her staff, her right hand grasping Tamlin’s left. Calliande drew on the Sight and looked at Tamara, and she saw that her aura had changed. When they had met in Kalimnos, Tamara had possessed the aura of a strong wielder of elemental magic. It had become stronger after the battle with the muridachs and was even stronger now.

  An idea came to Calliande, and she rose to her feet.

  Both Tamlin and Tamara looked as she approached.

  “Keeper,” said Tamlin.

  Calliande sat before them. “How are you feeling?”

  “Weary.” Tamara managed a smile. “Suddenly remembering how to do something I have never done before is quite tiring.”

  “I have an idea about that,” said Calliande. “A way you might be able to recover more of the memories of your other lives, perhaps even of your original life.”

  Tamara blinked. “How?”

  “Some of the memories of your other lives have returned,” said Calliande. “Else you wouldn’t be able to do some of the things you can do now.”

  “The spells of fire and lightning,” said Tamara.

  Calliande nodded. “If you have pulled some memories from your other lives, it ought to be easier to recall more of them.”

  Tamara frowned. “We tried that. You taught me some focusing and meditation methods for recovering memories.”

  “That was before Cathair Caedyn,” said Calliande. “You’re much stronger magically now. For that matter, you’ve remembered skills you learned either from your other lives or your first life. That means we have a better chance of recovering actual memories.”

  “What would we do?” said Tamara.

  “You have seen how Antenora and I can converse across a great distance using these bracelets?” said Calliande, tapping the delicate band of steel and crystal on her right wrist. “The foundation of that is something we call the mindspeech spell. It lets two Magistri communicate by using their thoughts to speak.”

  “Will that help?” said Tamara. “You can…look into my mind and rummage around, see if you can find anything?” She smiled. “You might want to bring a good lantern and a rope.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” said Calliande. “The mindspeech spell will let us communicate without words…but since I will be so close to you, I can also use the Sight to look into your mind and try to unlock some of your memories.”

  Tamara considered that. “Would that really work?”

  “It might,” said Calliande. “You would see something. It would be like a…like a vision, for lack of a better word. It wouldn’t work for most people, but your mind and will have been trained to use magic.”

  “How long would it take?” said Tamara.

  “Only a few moments,” said Calliande. “We would know almost at once if it would work or not.”

  Tamara hesitated, and then looked at Tamlin. “What do you think?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Tamlin, squeezing her hand. “It’s your mind, your memories. You should decide.”

  “I know,” said Tamara. “But I care about you. I would still like to know what you think.”

  Calliande blinked. It was the first time she had ever heard Tamara say that.

  Tamlin looked at Calliande. “Is there any risk to her?”

  “Not physically, no,” said Calliande. “She won’t come to harm from this.”

  “But there is a danger other than the physical,” said Tamlin.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “The things you remember might not be pleasant. You’ve had a hard life, Tamara, but you grew up with an adoptive father and brothers who cared about you. Tysia was a slave in Urd Maelwyn. Tirdua spent all her life living in fear of the Necromancer of Trojas. The other six shards were all murdered, and we know nothing of the woman who became the seven shards. You could remember something horrible, or you might remember something about yourself that you do not like.”

  Tamlin hesitated, and then took a deep breath. “I think it is worth the risk.”

  “I agree with you,” said Tamara. “The truth, no matter how unpleasant, is still better than ignorance. Or fearing the unknown. I spent most of my life thinking I would degenerate into a madwoman. Instead, I learned that I am but one part of a life splintered into seven shards.” She squeezed Tamlin’s hand again and then nodded to herself. “I am ready.”

  “Very well,” said Calliande. “We will begin at once.”

  ###

  Tamara used the discipline of spell work to calm herself, clearing her mind of fears and distractions.

  There was fear, yes, but also a flicker of excitement. Tamara had discovered enough to learn the rough, broad outline of what had happened to her. There had been one woman. For some dire and urgent reason, that woman had asked Rhodruthain to split her into seven different lives with the Sword of Life. Six of those seven lives had been killed by the Maledicti and the Scythe, and Tamara was the only one left.

  She knew what had happened to her, if vaguely, but she knew nothing of why.

  Why had she done this to herself? What extremity had driven her to do it? For that matter, why had the Maledicti devoted such efforts to hunting down her seven lives? She had to be a threat to them, in the same way that the knowledge that Antenora had discovered had been a threat.

  Why? The question haunted her.

  Per
haps Calliande could help her find the answers.

  “All right,” said Calliande. “This is going to feel a little strange.”

  Tamara smiled. “I’ve heard that a lot lately.”

  Tamlin coughed and looked a little embarrassed. Tamara wondered why then realized that he was thinking of their first time together in Cathair Caedyn. Well, he needn’t have worried. That hadn’t felt strange at all. Entirely the opposite, rather. Wonderful and yet familiar at the same time.

  Calliande reached out, put her hand on Tamara’s temple, and cast a spell. White light glimmered around the Keeper’s fingers. She felt a peculiar tugging inside her head like her skull had suddenly shrunk.

  “Can you hear me?” said Calliande.

  Tamara started to reply and then blinked in surprise.

  Calliande’s lips hadn’t moved. For that matter, Tamara hadn’t heard the Keeper’s voice with her ears.

  “Try to answer in the same way that I am speaking to you now,” said Calliande’s voice inside Tamara’s head.

  “Yes,” thought Tamara back.

  “Good,” said Calliande. “I’m going to use the Sight on you now, try to see into the depths of your mind. If it works, you’ll be able to see what I am seeing.”

  “Go ahead,” said Tamara.

  Calliande remained motionless, but Tamara felt a strange buzzing inside her head. The Keeper’s expression did not change, but her blue eyes seemed to glow, digging into Tamara’s skull.

  Then, all at once, the world changed around her.

  Tamara would have gasped, but she could not move. Something rushed up from the depths of her mind, and she was somewhere else. Some part of her mind noted that her body was still sitting atop the causeway in the Serpent Marshes, Calliande touching her temple, Tamlin grasping her hand. Yet at the same time, she was somewhere else.

  A memory. It was a memory, but it played out for Tamara like she was reliving it.

  And in the memory, Tamara was dying.

  She had been wounded, both with spell and sword. She felt the burns on her face and left arm, felt the blood dripping down her bronze armor. Armor? The overlapping bronze plates of the armor of a Sister of the Order of the Arcanii covered her torso and hung down to her knees. Tamara wanted to look down at herself, but she could not. This was a memory, and she could not change it.